with the wind beneath my fingers
by NewandOld
Summary: When people asked about the near constant existance of the backpack or thick jacket everywhere, he would smile and lie about a spine brace. And no one asked twice.
1. 1: the fears of a fledgling

He had them ever since he could remember.

It was a secret, something he learned to keep a secret, being pounded from an early life to hide it away, fold it down, never let other people see -

Wings.

For something that were symbols of independence, flight, freedom, it was one of the only things chaining him down.

All his life, he had to live with the wings tucked in and bandaged away, with visits to a shady clinic every 6 months.

When people asked about the near constant existance of the backpack or thick jacket everywhere, he would smile and lie about a spine brace.

And no one asked twice.

* * *

He wasn't born with them.

It kind of... popped out one day.

At least, that's how his family described it.

The family had been minding their own business, when toddler Lance started whimpering and squirming. To their surprise, fluffy downy fledgling wings had appeared under his clothes.

They moved away to another city right after.

* * *

The wings weren't always bandaged away.

Whenever the family could, Mama would close up all the windows and curtains, close the door to the big room, and stretch out his wings for the family to brush through the mess of feathers.

'Mi pajarito bonito,' she would croon, straightening the ruffled feathers. 'My little angel. I love you, mijo, no matter what.'

And he understood the reason for the secrecy, he really did.

He just wished his wings meant something more than what the public said it was - a quirk in mutation.

* * *

There were whispers.

Whispers of a select population with actual wings: The Pennipotus. The Winged Ones.

The discovery was mostly hushed up, but once it had hit, people were looking for more, more, more.

Every year, more and more people joined the Pennipotus, so many that in the bigger cities, a few dozen could be seen with wings out, just daring anyone to comment.

More and more of the Pennipotus began to outright advocate to be accepted into normal society, getting jobs and whatnot with no fear of retribution.

The whispers of equality and civil rights had changed to a roar - until one of the well known Galaxy Garrison pilots, Takashi Shirogane, revealed himself as one of the Pennipotus, coining the term 'joining the flock'.

Lance watched this unfold with pride in his eyes, awe and inspiration in his wings and pride in his heart.

He was going to be pilot, and be free, just like Takashi Shirogane.

* * *

He had gotten in the program, and had promised himself that he would come out and 'join the flock', that he would come out to the world by the first week -

But the years of hide hide hide and don't let people see -

Why were lies so much more easier?

* * *

And in the first pilot orientation class, he saw it.

Gorgeous, gorgeous wings, flared out almost in defiance, creating a bubble of empty space in the crowded room.

Dark, dark brown with slight black highlights, tipped with smatterings of white.

Streamlined lines of sleek feathers that all but screamed speed -

Lance closed his open mouth at a nudge from behind him, and tried to focus on anything but the winged boy in front.

As he kept glancing towards the bold bird boy, a sour taste made its way to the back of his mouth.

The boy's wings - they were beautifully taken care of.

His mouth couldn't help but quirk down at the memory of the state of his own ragtag bag of feathers. Furtive and rushed hand brushes were the most he got.  
 _  
_ _Fear of being discovered,_ he thought bitterly, sneering down his shoes. _I'm pathetic_.

He glanced at the dark haired boy ahead. The boy was standing in an at ease position, cool and calm to the whispers coming from behind him.

And those wings!

He couldn't help but admire them every time his eyes brushed over them, the healthy glow unconsciously pulling at his fingers to brush through them.

 _I should be as bold as he is,_ he thought, resolve in his eyes. His hands began to undo the first button of his thick jacket that held his bandaged wings, shivering with excitement at the thought of having an ally -

"Birdbrain thinks he's a hotshot, with those mutations on display," a harsh stage whisper stopped him in his tracks.

Lance froze. Ahead of him, he saw the pretty wings stiffen and still.

"School for pilots, not birds," the same voice scoffed louder. "Real flying is with machines -"

Lance slowly lowered his hand from his collar, leaving the second button untouched.

He thought he saw the glorious feathers shrink, but he must have seen wrong, because the brave winged boy decided to unfurl his wings even further, pushing the nearby cadets even further back.

 _Like an avenging angel_ , Lance's mouth hung slightly open, gazing amazed at the full wingspan.

There were several gasps of amazement as everyone realized exactly how big they were, and before anyone else had a chance to comment, a uniformed officer stood up to the podium and began to speak.  
  
 _Useless, pathetic, coward._ Lance barely heard the speech so busy he was with his demons.

 _You'll never be good enough_ , the voices whispered. _You're never going to be free._

Lance wordlessly rebuttoned his jacket and stood stiff, eyes resolutely turned away from the boy with wings.

* * *

 **A/N**

I wanted to write more before I posted it here (it was posted on my tumblr first) but I never ended up writing more.

...since then, it has been almost a year...OTL


	2. 2: the memories of a fledgeling

**Keith POV**

* * *

He learned how to fly from the birds.

His father had mentioned something about watching a lot of fledgling videos.

The hummingbird feeders in the shade, various bird feeding posts - the well-worn book of Sibley's bird book with the pair of binoculars on the windowsill - there really wasn't much else his father could teach him about flying.

Every morning after breakfast was spent flapping his wings as fast as he could, his father laughing at the down feathers that rained on them.

He was happy.

He _had been_ happy.

* * *

The big day to test out his wings was one sunny fall morning, just a few days before his seventh birthday. Only the day before he'd successfully flapped his wings fast and hard enough to lift off the ground and stay above the ground, to the lonely applause of his beaming father.

He'd ruffled his hair and told him how proud he was, and that tomorrow was the day.

They'd decked out the front yard with a mattress, then climbed up to the roof together.

His father had stared at him as he fidgeted with his wings nervously at the edge of the roof, then placed a warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

And he said it would turn out great.

And it did.

* * *

Not even a couple of days after that, he remembered dragging his father to the tallest hill in town to begin practicing full length glides, fluffing and sleeking down his wings as smooth as possible.

His father kept repeating that he didn't need to 'push yourself' and that there were plenty of 'smaller hills than this cliff, Keith, maybe start smaller'.

But it wasn't enough - he could not get enough.

By the end of the week, he was landing perfectly ('Gently, Keith! Be kind to your knees!') back onto the hill his father waited nine times out of ten.

* * *

Staring down at the rocky cliff side, he wondered if his wings were strong enough.

"Nervous?" his father had asked.

He nodded and looked down at the gorge below him - were his wings good enough?

"Just leave your wings as wide open as you can, then glide," His father said, giving him a reassuring pat. "Your wings are strong enough."

So he trusted him, trusted his wings, and dived.

* * *

There really isn't a way to explain what flying feels like to people who couldn't.

Many people try to explain the sense of freedom, the unending skies, the wind in your face - but what they don't try to explain is the fear.

There is always a fear in flying - the thrill, the adrenaline.

Skydivers, parachute-jumpers, hang-gliders -

They all seek the exhilarating battle of defying gravity to keep up in the air, knowing they might lose.

But flying with wings... after a while, it becomes _routine_.

All you need was energy, a good draft to start going, and done.

It wasn't that special. It was almost like walking, only instead of looking both ways for cars, you made adjustments for little pockets of still air, flapped to rise with the updraft, change heights for wind currents.

It was no big deal, yet a huge deal at the same time.

Was it really any wonder that everyone stared with incredulity and jealousy when someone walked down the street with their wings out?

His father didn't say anything about putting away his wings, but after a few trips downtown, he began wearing a jacket.

* * *

Then his father died.

As he bounced from foster home to foster home, he spent most of the day flying among the cliffs, flying away anywhere that was far enough away.

It didn't matter if his wings showed anymore; it was easier this way. (to fly away faster)

* * *

One foster home had a weird hippy neighbor, who greeted his foster parents by saying that all things somehow were connected.

She would always be outside doing her meditation stuff, which happened to be close to his favorite tree.

Every day. Sitting with crossed legs and mostly closed eyes. Humming something softly with hands smoothing over her mat. Fiddling with strange colored rocks.

Somehow, she always knew he was there in her tree.

She spoke a soft hello a few moments after he landed, and waved goodbye as he got up to go.

They never talked other than that.

* * *

Once she brought a brush. Asked if she could brush his wings.

He silently landed and sat on the woman's mat.

And he did that every day after that.

His had wings shone since.

* * *

Sometimes, he would test the furthest he could free fall without breaking something on landing.

One hundred yards. Fifty yards. Twenty yards. Ten.

As he fell, he would always wonder if he misjudged this time, if he could still trust in his wings' strength.

When he felt in a dark enough mood, he would stay sitting at the edge of somewhere high and stare down and wonder how far down it was.

His father had been right - his wings were strong enough. Strong enough to take him anywhere he wanted.

But his father had not taken to account -

His wings may have been strong, but _he_ was not strong enough.

* * *

The day before his social worker came to take him to yet another home, he stood by the woman's mat and stared her down until she opened her eyes.

"Breathe, little bird," She patted the mat in front of her.

He sat, then slid around, wings towards her.

"Your path is unclear," She said, gently brushing her fingers through the roughest snarls first. "And it will always be."

Keith turned his head to eye the woman solemnly stretching his wings to straighten a patch of feathers.

This was the most she had spoken to him.

"When in doubt, remember," She continued, moving on to his next wing. "Feathers are given to people before a spiritual quest. They lead the way and guide them to the way the wind blows."

Keith turned, brushing away the woman's hands on his wing to face her fully.

"Destiny calls you, fledgling," She slowly telegraphed her hand moving to brush his hair. "Don't fight it - all you can do is trust it will lead you to the place you should be."

He stared into her hazel eyes, then slightly lent into her ministrations.

She amiably nodded as if he had agreed, then continued to brush his curls into something more manageable.

He never saw her again.

* * *

He met Shiro on one of his flights around the Canyons.

He had landed on one of the hanging ledges on the cliff and had opened his sketchbook and water bottle, when the loud flapping of wings startled him.

"Part of the flock, eh?"

He stared. The older man in front of him had the largest wings he'd ever seen.

The tan and grey outer feathers, tagged with near pure white inner feathers - something was familiar about the pattern.

"Didn't mean to startle you," The guy continued, holding out a hand. "Shiro. Wanted to talk to the local Penny."

The guy seemed to be uncaring that he was frowning at him, beaming as they both eyed the other's wings.

"...Penny?" He broached, carefully stepping away

The man looked thrown for a second.

"You know, the Pennipotus?" He said, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

"... I don't know what that is." Keith began to pick up his things, inching further towards the edge in case - just in case.

"Oh, I suppose there are people who don't know about it." Shiro fluffed his wings and motioned to them. "The Pennipotus are people like us. Winged people. Pennies for short."

He didn't know how to respond and simply nodded.

"Not as alone as you thought?" Shiro chuckled. He held out his hand again to shake. "I would never have guessed that, with how you were keeping them out..."

Keith didn't respond for a few frozen seconds, then lightly gripped the hand once and dropped it.

Shiro's wings fluffed up a tiny amount, then smoothed over.

"Where did you learn to fly like that?" The guy asked, attempting to ease the tense air. "You practically landed with no running stop."

Keith began to fidget with the buckles of his pouches, eyes flicking between the edge of the cliff and Shiro's sudden puppy-like eagerness.

"...Practice."

He then stepped off the ledge and didn't look back.

'Shiro' will leave him alone soon enough.

* * *

But Shiro didn't.

* * *

 **A/N**

So I realize I didn't really specify where I got Keith's and Shiro's wing pattern inspiration from!

Keith: Red-Shouldered Hawk in appearance, but has hunting patterns closer to a Harris's Hawk, who 'hunts actively, in low flight, pursuing prey around bushes and thickets.'

Shiro: Ferruginous Hawk. Almost exactly like one, actually. It's the largest of the Buteo hawks, and its scientific name is literally 'regal'. (I couldn't help myself :D)

...Lance's will come up later. I'm still working on it ;)


	3. 3: the struggles of a fledgeling

**3: the struggles of a fledgling**

 **Lance**

* * *

His name was Keith.

No one really knew what to do with the information when the placement exams came out, placing the name, _Keith_ , at the top of the page.

Faced with pure talent, the discontented students in their teens began to murmur jealously.

 _Unfair advantage_ , _first test fluke_ , _not on my best game_ -

It didn't change the fact that Keith was the only one who hadn't come to check on the placement tests at all. He didn't even look at the paper, walking past the crowd with a slight raised eyebrow.

He seemed impassive in the face of the crowd, but Lance saw it - the slight fluff of wings and tensing of the wing bone. Keith left quickly, barely sparing him a glance.

Lance stared holes into the back of Keith's uniform, eyeing the trembling wingtips as he turned the corner.

* * *

A week.

That was what Lance had promised himself - to undo the bandages and air what he had hidden for years.

But a week passed, followed by another, _another_ , and yet _another_ -

Each week, there was something: first flight simulation practice, first group crew assignments, practice for the next placement exam -

And each week he told himself, _next week Monday, this week,_ _tomorrow_ , today -

Time and time again, he came back each day to a locked bathroom, looking at his own reflection in the mirror - gaze full of hate, wet hair plastered to his forehead, and those cursed, _cursed_ wings that flittered at the corner of his eyes.

He loved and hated that they made him special. He hated that he felt so conflicted. He loved his family, but at that moment, he hated them for not being brave enough to openly support his winged childhood.

 _If only my family had chosen to be uncaring about what the neighbors thought,_ Lance smacked his forehead against the fogged up glass. _There would have been no need for me to hide._

Lance hated that his closely wrapped secret caused hugs to be out of the picture. He hated that he had to be vigilant when walking in the hallways. He hated being skittish when he only had on a thin layer of uniform. He hated the anxiety and goosebumps that came when someone approached him from behind. He hated that he couldn't go to the clinic in the Garrison because of his butchered fake medical records.

He hated that there were people like Keith, openly flaunting his wings to the world when Lance had so much trouble even stringing a coherent sentence about wings to a person with wings.

Tapping his head against the glass again in frustration, Lance sighed. His wings fluttered in the mirror's reflection, pulling yet another frown to his face.

 _If I pulled all the feathers_ , he darkly thought, glaring at down at his wings. _If I had no wings, things would be so much simpler_ -

He clutched at his feathers to actually _pull,_ but the pain stilled his hand to a stop.

A shaky breath, then a slow uncurling of fingers - his hand left his wings with a few mangled feathers on his palm. Lance straightened the bent feathers in his hand, morosely wondering if Shiro or Keith ever had moments when they hated their wings.

They were always so unashamed of the way their wings were. He remembered when he first saw Takashi Shirogane on TV with his wings out - The glint in Shiro's tan gold wings as he gave his statement in the afternoon sun had pried his mouth open in awe. Lance remembered Shiro's calm smile as he declared himself to be a 'penny'.

 _I thought I would have joined the flock by now,_ Lance thought with another frustrated sigh. _I thought I would learn confidence after seeing Shiro in real life._

Shaking fingers carded through his roughened feathers, flattening them in a clinical strokes until the ruffled portion became a slightly less of a tangled mess.

"Tomorrow," Lance promised his reflection. Tomorrow, he will seek Shiro out.

 _More like Never_ , a small inner voice countered. _You'll never be brave enough to show him your wings._

He curled his fingers tighter around the broken shafts in hand.

He didn't disagree.

* * *

Lance found himself circling Keith in his day to day life.

His eyes would follow the fighter pilot's wings from the cafeteria, classroom, common areas, and even distracting him once in the flight simulator.

Sometimes, Lance couldn't help the automatic scoff that came at the mention of bird-boy's name - the boy was the epitome of _conspicuous._ As someone who had kept the feathery secret for years and years, it was grating to see someone just blatantly going about his day with no issue at all.

Because Keith left his wings out _everywhere_ \- there was almost never a time of the day when he had then folded neatly to his back. It was always half-flared open, creating a small pocket of private space no one dared to encroach.

Lance secretly admired and grudgingly respected his fellow Penny for that.

It should also be noted that Keith's borderline delinquency was quite a hot topic in the Garrison grapevine. Ripping holes into every single one of his regulation uniform for 'optimal flight efficiency' and the almost tongue-in-cheek flick of his wings that went with his every salute (the Garrison didn't do much to stop him - perhaps they felt the world's scrutiny) fanned the hearts of girls and boys alike.

Just watching bird-boy go about his daily life entirely unconcerned with what other people said was annoying as it was inspiring - however reluctant as he was to admit it! - and Lance wanted to try and join Keith in his...quite public wing-baring.

That Friday, after the second placement test announcement, Lance gathered what tattered self-confidence remained. Stifling all his fears with the reassurance that _someone_ understood, Lance left his dorm room with his wings folded into his jacket - without bandages.

Even missing the thin layer of cloth was perturbing, causing Lance to get shifty-eyed every time someone walked too close.

As he made his way towards the training grounds Keith was known to frequent for his personal wing training, Lance bit the inside of his cheeks from the nerves. He didn't know how to even begin talking about this. How did he ask about how to talk to Shiro? What did he even say in this situation without sounding like an overzealous fanboy?

Hopefully, all Lance needed to do was take off his jacket and show bird-boy the mess of feathers his wings had become, and he'd understand.

It took all his concentration to keep breathing normally as he made his way to the training grounds.

Muttering a small pep talk to himself, Lance took a long slow breath to calm himself before turning the last corner.

"Things are going to be fine," He murmured, concentrating on counting his breaths - and ran smack into someone much bigger.

Lance braced himself for impact with the floor, but blinked when nothing came. He was held up by his arm by another - albeit much more muscled - arm.

"Are you alright?"

At the familiar voice, Lance's head snapped up to see that he had run into no one other than Takashi Shirogane himself.

Lance's stomach dropped. All the calming words he'd been telling himself was gone, what script he had practiced for Keith swept up and scattered into the four winds, and the itch under his jacket intensified. Shiro's massive wings near gleamed in the afternoon light, folded back into neat rows of tan feathers. One gold wing had flared out to balance Lance's extra weight.

Quickly straightening into a salute, Lance's left hand began to fidget down the side lining of his trousers, fingers shaking as he tried to think of something, _anything_ to say. Should he out himself to Shiro now? Or should he ask for a private talk instead? Was it a better explanation if he just take his jacket off here and now? In the end, all that mattered was that he became part of the flock -

But before he realized that Shiro had acknowledged his salute and he could tentatively begin a conversation, a voice interrupted from behind.

"What are you doing here?"

Lance turned to see Keith, wings flared out protectively around his form. A flickering feather pulled his eyes towards Keith's wingtip - the wind had fluttered one just so, and Lance couldn't help but feel another flash of jealousy at the neat rows of feathers.

If Shiro's feathers were immaculately perfect and shiny gold in an unattainable way, Keith's were tidy but roughed up, in need of a good brushing. Essentially, well used.

Lance flicked his eyes back to Keith's frowning face. Keith was standing stiff with his arms crossed, and his feathers had begun to puff up in size behind him.

"...Nothing, bird-boy," Lance huffed with disdain, choosing to turn back to Takashi Shirogane, who was looking on with raised eyebrows and a crinkled laugh line.

Lance hesitated, wondering if he should shake his hand, ask for an autograph, show him his wings, or all the above. All he really had to do was show Shiro - and Keith - his wings and everything else could naturally follow -

Before he even had a chance to speak, Keith muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

"What do you want with Shiro, _cargo pilot_?"

And Lance jerked and glared back at Keith, tensing his wings tighter under his jacket.

He pushed down the almost physical pain at the jab, but his eyes were already beginning to water. He thinned his lips and grit down on his teeth for them to just _stop_.

He wanted to voice even a smidgen of his frustration and anger, but his eyes had other ideas. Before the angry tears overflowed, Lance marched his way past Keith, clipping the edge of his wing.

Lance thought he heard Shiro tell off Keith in a scandalized voice, but he was busy trying not to burst into tears in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm fine," he muttered to himself, blinking rapidly. "I'm okay."

And if he later saw two black spots circling in the clear sky, he looked away and chose to ignore the window until sundown.

* * *

 **A/N**

...Update schedule? What update schedule? OTL


	4. 4: fly, fledgeling, fly

From that day at the training field, Lance antagonized Keith in every way possible.

Bitterness, jealousy, hate - he had never felt so strongly for someone like this.

Their eyes had met on one occasion. Lance had glared, to which Keith responded with slight surprise, followed by a small frown.

Lance tried not to read to much into Keith's wings, which ruffled up each time Keith noticed him.

Because even a single glimpse of Keith's wings, and Lance felt there was a gaping hole in his chest, one that kept screaming _unfairunfairunfair_ , pulsing with his heartbeat until his mouth let out a caustic antagonizing insult under his breath.

Usually it came out as mumbles that were chuckled over by whoever was nearby, but once in a while it was aimed directly for Keith to hear.

'Delinquent' 'Pretentious dickhead' and 'Mullet'.

Keith remained silent as ever, his discomfort only showing through his puffed up wings.

The twinges of guilt after saying the insults would come in the night, when he brushed a hand through his bedraggled wings in the shower.

* * *

When daydreaming in class, Lance would wonder what might happen if he just came clean right then and there. Right in the middle of Hofferman's lecture.

Usually, between the rush of academics and training, there was always stuff to do - homework, extra training, simulation hours, socializing with potential co-pilots - so many distractions from what he secretly wanted to do.

By the time he looked around to even think about talking to someone about his wings, it was already curfew. He would then rinse and repeat, sluggishly heading to the shower to convince himself emptily that tomorrow was the day.

Times when he was in the shower, sitting in the dorm alone, in bed to fall asleep, the thought of coming clean was like an anxious cloud hanging behind him, making its presence known whenever he had a quiet moment for himself.

The nights were the worst - then, the insecurities came clamoring back in the voice of his classmates.

The events of the day, every single mistake he had made - it all came rushing to the forefront of his mind.

From time to time, his classmates teased him for trying out strange flight patterns, ribbing him about how cargo pilots 'only really need to evade, Lance, what are you trying to do, be a fighter pilot?'

When alone, the easygoing teasing would warp into outright jeering.

'He has wings, yet is only a cargo pilot? Wow, what an idiot,'

'Wings were wasted on him. What a runt,'

'What's the point of his wings if he can't even fly a plane properly?'

'Compared to Shiro and Keith, he's practically a slug! So slow,'

...He did what he could to drown away the silence every night.

* * *

In the end, he didn't end up talking to Shiro.

He left for the Kerberos mission, and ever since, Keith became even more sullen and toed the fine line of charismatic action and insubordination.

The near palpable aura of subdued frustration made Lance tone himself down. He didn't approach birdboy outside of class, and he didn't go to the empty classrooms - which had convenient windows looking out to the training grounds - anymore.

Lance put up his poster of Shiro that he had folded away on the wall over his desk. Shiro's poster was a little faded, but his reassuring smile was still bright.

He hoped he would be out and about with his wings by the time Shiro returned.

Then out of the blue, the Kerberos mission failure - due to _pilot error_.

* * *

Lance didn't really get a chance to tell Keith, either.

The day after the entire Garrison was abuzz with news of the Kerberos mission failure, Keith was kicked out after punching out Iverson's eye.

The grapevine mentioned raised voices and Keith shouting the words 'Shiro? Pilot error? Bullshit!' as he left.

No one really knew how to respond to Keith's sudden 'exit stage left' at first. Keith had been the first of the Pennipotus to really come into the Garrison after Shiro became part of the flock. The higher ups seemed to want to keep both the Kerberos mission mentions and Keith's leaving on the down low, which raised speculation among the students.

 _'Did you hear? They say Shiro pulled some strings to put Kogane into the Garrison system! Because he had_ wings _!'_

 _'Geez, what a washout. Ten dollars Kogane wasn't as amazing as everyone said and left from the pressure to deliver on expectations of a 'genius pilot'.'_

Lance pulled his wings in tighter, inwardly smarting from the loss of both Pennies from the Garrison.

* * *

Then Iverson called him up to the office out of the blue - he, Lance McClain, was moved up to fighter class. The limited seat numbers in the fighter-class had to be filled, and chose him, the top cargo pilot, to take Keith's vacancy.

Lance didn't really know how to respond to his new situation. With gladness? Bitter victory?

On one hand, he was happy he was finally a fighter pilot; on the other hand, everything he did, it was compared to Keith.

His seat? Keith's. His room? Keith's old bunk. His training console? It was Keith's. His flight methods? Keith's were 'better'. His new team? The team that was supposed to be Keith's. (The team that only became Lance's because everyone had preferred to work in their original teams.)

So he did what he did best.

Smile and fill the silence best he could to bypass any attention to the one secret he had.

* * *

His new and... controversial team made another splash in the Garrison grapevine.

Himself, Lance McClain, had gotten into fighter-class because the infamous Keith the birdboy 'washed out', as it was becoming generally known. A cargo pilot at the top of his class, with a tendency of daydreaming and losing focus. His flight techniques were known to be... not quite standard for any kind pilot, which may have been overlooked if he could pull it off. The problem was, three out of four times, he couldn't pull it off.

Pidge - the mysterious first-year communications officer who always seemed to be up to something, scribbling away in a laptop or some notepad or another, headphones in almost everywhere he went. He was only placed with this second-year team due to there being an odd number of communications officers to pair up evenly. Whenever Lance talked to the small dude, he was either outright ignored or told to go somewhere else for conversation 'because you won't find it here'.

A little strange for a _communications_ officer, but he did his job when needed. Lance couldn't complain much and didn't press.

Hunk - Tsuyoshi Garrett - this big guy was the one everyone kept a special eye on. The newbie engineer who was moved up to the second year after a week of classes because they were 'too easy'. He might have gone overlooked and stayed with the first years... if he hadn't gone and changed up the security systems to get into the kitchens.

Something about needing a good meal after the week of stress?

...And he was the first openly winged person after Keith.

* * *

Hunk was a sweet and funny guy. For an aircraft engineer, he got motion sick quite easily, but he did good work... without environmental pressures who answered by 'Iverson'. Or when he wasn't on a moving ship. Or when he forgot to go into a nervous breakdown.

Hunk's wings were always folded away neatly, tucked in close to his back. It was slightly visible over his shoulders and neatly covered the sewed slits on his uniform, but it was mostly forgotten about until he became anxious about something. _Then_ he fluttered them like he would take flight right where he was, sending flurries of down feathers up into the air. Which was a problem when they were in the simulator - it could get pretty hard to see anything in a feather storm.

Lance found himself patting the big guy's shoulders or talking him down with a lot of reassurances when this happened. He found himself distracting Iverson from being too harsh on the poor guy. He would tell Hunk that yes, he _can_ 'hold it until we're off the simulator, _Dios ayudame_ you will clean it yourself if you do, _I'm not joking_ '. Tap his chin when he was discouraged and told him to 'focus on what he could do now instead of the what ifs'.

The constant pep talks would eventually calm the puffed up wings down to the point they looked a little poofed up, but Lance felt it was better than the giant feather hurricane that made the already tiny cockpit claustrophobically small.

After a particularly harsh day of training (training was always harsh with playing catch up, working on teamwork, and extra training in the simulator) Lance felt he had wrung out an entire book's worth of pep talks to try and cheer Hunk up and encourage Pidge to indulge him his flight maneuver. But then he found a bashful Hunk waiting at his dorm room door with a paper bag.

"I didn't know if you had allergies, but I saw you eat a chocolate chip cookie at lunch, so..." Hunk handed over the bag. "I baked some."

Lance took it with a smile. "Thanks, man. I love chocolate chip. Can I eat one now?"

"Yeah, go for it. Not sure if you'll like it, I added honey instead of sugar. My Ma used to add coconut as well but there aren't any here -"

"Mm!" Lance said through a mouthful of cookie. "Hunk, this is delicious!"

Hunk blushed. Lance noticed Hunk's wings beginning to flutter.

"Thanks. It's my Gran's recipe," Hunk shyly looked away. "I'm glad you like it."

"Thank _you_ ," Lance took a bite out of another cookie. " _Dios_ , my _abuela_ might want your recipe."

"...Thanks," Hunk's wings fluttered further. "Anyway. Really appreciated what you've been doing, so."

"Glad to help, man. We're a team, right?" Lance held out a fist.

Hunk beamed and bumped his fist. "Yes. Yes we are."

Lance saw the way Hunk's wings fluttered in excitement, and just knew they were going to get along great.

And that was how Hunk Tsuyoshi Garrett became his friend.

* * *

He ended up showing Hunk his wings one late night, months later.

They had done so many things together - sneaking out of the Garrison was almost a biweekly tradition ('But we should be studying, Lance!' 'This is training... uh, stealth! We totally need it for - for - stealthy stuff!'), cooking midnight study snacks, and most encouraging of all -

 _'Hey Lance, can you straighten my feathers?'_

At the time, Lance hadn't known the significance. He had simply stared down Hunk for a few seconds and twirled his fingers to motion him to turn around, then grabbed the brush from Hunk's hands.

Hunk would chat about the most inane things as he was being brushed, and as Lance felt the tension leave Hunk's body, he began to understand the gesture.

Trust to organize neatly, trust to turn one's back -

And trust to not steal, break, or damage one's feathers.

When Lance learned what it meant to ask someone _without wings_ to groom someone who did, he gave himself his own pep talks in the mirror, then asked Hunk to come over to his room to talk.

Hunk came in with his usual cheery smile, which faded when Lance closed and locked the door behind them. Hunk apprehensively sat on the bed and glanced around the room, discreetly eyeing Lance, who trying not to clutch too hard at his jacket.

Lance took a slow breath to calm the fluttering in his stomach, ignoring Hunk's quirked eyebrow and turned around to show his back, then stripped off the jacket.

His wings shook - or was it him? - as it unfurled from its tight bonds. He'd taken off the bandages after a shower, and the damp bag of feathers hung limply from his frame. Lance slowly turned back to face a wide-eyed Hunk.

"...So. I'm," Lance wordlessly motioned towards his wings. "...Yeah."

Hunk was silent, eyes flicking back and forth from Lance's face and his wings.

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone yet," Lance began to look away, mumbling towards the ground. "When you... asked me to groom you -"

Lance didn't finish. The orange Garrison uniform was up against his face, and Lance felt strong arms tightly wound around him.

"Buddy, oh man. Oh _man_ , Lance," Hunk's voice whispered in his left ear. "You were so brave... handling things all by yourself, too."

Lance heard the tears in Hunk's voice and buried his face even deeper into the bigger guy's arms. His arms slowly lifted to return Hunk's sincere hug.

"You did great, buddy," Hunk continued, stroking the back of his head. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

The burn behind his eyes came as Hunk continued to croon into his hair.

"Things are going to be okay," Hunk murmured, "You're going to be okay."

The tension that had been in his shoulders fell away, and Lance detachedly saw a wet patch grow on Hunk's jacket as he slumped into the engineer.

"May I... May I continue to touch you?" Hunk asked carefully. "Your wings?"

Lance nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything.

Hunk clutched him tighter for a microsecond, then gently let him loose, lowering him onto the bed he just vacated.

"Okay. Later, if you want, I can give you the bestest feather grooming ever," Hunk said, carefully untangling his fingers from Lance's hair. "For all the times you've done mine, you know? Your wings are so beautiful. They're definitely made for speed."

Hunk sat down beside him and began to slowly stroke over the tangled mess of feathers, his hand gently guiding the most bent feathers into their correct directions, patch by patch. He rambled as he went, talking about the physics behind the shapes of various wing types and the different types of care that went into different kinds of feathers.

Lance just stared at Hunk's mouth as he fretted over him, wondering at his feeling of numb relief.

Was this what it felt like to share? Was this why people joined the flock? Became a Penny?

Hunk was murmuring something about feather care 101, one of his arms back around Lance's shoulders and hair. Lance lent into the stroking hands and caught the tail end of Hunk's explanation of his own wings.

"- supposed to be a subspecies of grouse or quail, that floof up into a little fluff ball when agitated. They're more ground dwellers than actually flying birds, but can fly short distances. Like, I'm a distant relative of a chicken or something."

Lance laughed wetly.

"Hunk, buddy, you are no chicken, sir," He carefully placed a hand on Hunk's shoulder. "Thanks."

"Any time, Lance." Hunk said with a smile, patting Lance's arm.

"...About that," Lance began, pausing to glance into Hunk's eyes. "Could you...brush my wings?"

 _'I trust you,'_

"Of course, Lance. I did say any time."

 _'I trust you, too.'_

And that's how Lance got his first best friend.

* * *

If they had been pretty good friends before, they became as thick as thieves. Hunk was usually the more reasonable one between the two, but with Lance being super shy about anything wing related, _Hunk_ began encouraging non regulation activities such as sneaking out to the training grounds in the middle of the night.

Of course, on Hunk's end, there was a lot of shivering and terrified mutters about what might happen if they were caught, but Lance was touched that he would go so far just to teach him some wing exercises.

That particular night, they had been sneaking out again, only to find Gunderson sneaking out ahead of them. After sharing a look (one excited to unravel a little of the mystery that was Pidge, one reluctantly curious), they followed.

* * *

"I can't believe it. I'd recognize that mullet anywhere! Hunk, it's Keith!"

"Seriously?"

"...Who's Keith?"

* * *

Meeting Keith again was...jarring.

For one, Keith didn't remember who he was at first. Then he threw salt into the already hurtful 'originally cargo pilot' wound.

 _Dios_ , Keith was so frustrating.

But man, could this guy _fly_.

The hover bike was already no match for a Garrison-rate Rover in terms of speed, but the way Keith had manouvered around the rovers effortlessly -

No wonder everyone called him a genius.

At some of the sharper turns, Keith would use Hunk'a weight at the tail, and flared out his wings to make an already sharp turn even sharper.

And at the cliff, as they were free falling - Pidge was just yelling obcenities, Hunk was yelling something about his wings not being strong enough from a height like this, and Lance was just... frozen as he wondered whether this was what it felt to fly.

* * *

"Lance, right?"

Shiro, Takashi Shirogane, the hero of the Garrison pilots and proud member of the Pennipotus, was holding out a hand to shake.

Lance glanced at the offered metal prosthesis, eyes flicking to the wings folded away on Shiro's back. The little he could see was battered and the feathers were a little broken, and the scarring Lance had glimpsed oh the man's body said a thousand words.

 _'Should I show him?'_ Lance briefly wondered. Telling Hunk had given him reassurance that things could turn out well. _'Should I just be out with it now?'_

Then he belatedly realized he was making Shiro, his hero, wait. Lance hurriedly grabbed the proffered hand and shook it, smiling bashfully.

"Good to have you back."

* * *

"- Some kind of energy from the desert. And there were all these ancient cave paintings -"

Lance blinked, eyebrows raised. He listened as Pidge and Hunk came up with these frown-hoffer line thingys. He glanced at Shiro, who was looking way too serious about this - actually, all four were looking dead serious about it.

He knew he wasn't the brains in the room, so he decided to just go with the flow.

* * *

When he met Blue, there was a relieving wave of pure _acceptance_.

The release of stress, the sudden relief of the anxiety that had always held his upper back like a burden was gone.

He hadn't known what it felt like without fear.

The colorful vision of the five lions joining together - he felt so sure about destiny, about fate.

Such an inexplicable thing existed! A concrete source of reassurance that _this_ really was his future, if he chose to accept it.

When the spaceship - ...lion? - opened its mouth, there was no hesitationin his movement towards the ship.

Lance stepped into a strange futuristic alien spaceship that seemed so high tech it was almost like magic. There was some commotion behind him, but he ignored them, knowing the ship was safe and forged ahead.

The pilot seat gleamed invitingly, and he took the seat. It did unexpectedly jerk forward, but that was okay.

He didn't really pay attention to the things being talked about behind him, because he was the one in the pilot seat.

Then the blue lion sent him visions of how to fly it - _her!_ \- and he grinned and decided -

No more shame, no more hiding.

Break free and _fly_.

* * *

A/N - I love Hunk and his underappreciated strong relationships. Hunk's wings, as mentioned, are a Ruffed Grouse, probably with more fancy coloring. They tend to stick closer to the ground, and make noises by thumping their chests. Cool story - their chest thumping actually sounds super close to a heartbeat, which actually freaked out a couple of my mountain camping friend at early dawn, thinking something was wrong with their fellow camper's heart because it was so loud and suddenly picked up its tempo. Learned all this at the ornithology class trip. Fun times.


End file.
